RESPICE FINEM [PK]

[LightTheTrainer 464]

RESPICE FINEM

OR

THE DEATH OF ONE FR. MIKHAEL

 

He did not remember much, if he was to be quite honest with himself. He did not remember most of those he had met; he did not remember his masses; he did not remember his bills, or missives, or theses. Indeed, he remembered only the few faces that had proven the greatest landmarks and monuments in his memory.

 

Perhaps there was his mother, and father, and his grandfather, too. They were country folk, and he had not spoken to them for some time. Admittedly, the details had faded in consequence of such - a wide nose, or thin lips, or that one mole that always perturbed him - but much more, he could not recall.

 

Then he might have recalled his fellows in the Church. Some fondly, and some with disdain, and some, to be sure, he had thoughts so addled that it hurt his mind to think on them. Perhaps there was Callahan, who had haunted him ever-so, and his circle, with Elim and Lorina and all those stranger sorts. Oh, but there were others, too - those priests that made their home Whitespire, as he had: Arnaud, but he was Sixtus, now, and Francisco and that new fellow at the abbey. Oh, indeed, he would never see the designs of that abbey come to life. What a shame! And there were others, indeed, but not so near to the center of his soul that a full recollection was permitted.

 

And then, to be sure, there were those miscellaneous folks - those of stranger bindings than he was used to. There was that orc, who had attacked him, once - ironic, that, given his ending. So, too, were there some lords and merchants - the good Boon, and Marlene, and Heinrich, and that nefarious Isabella.

 

But nearest to his mind’s core were those he sombered to think of, for most were gone, now, and he was left with scheming priests and raving warlords and ladies with little more than their good looks. He would not call them friends - that would be an indignity - but, perhaps, his nearest confidants. 

 

There was Anna, first. She had passed on, already. A mercy, for him and her both, to be sure. He would recall much of her - she had been wrinkled, and that he feared, and he feared, too, that grey hair that remained shrouded. But, he could tell, she had been beautiful, once. Long before him, when her husband lived and her daughter was naught more than an idea. Perhaps he would see her in such a state, purified, in the Seven Skies. That shall be wonderful, perhaps.

 

And next, there was Adela. He had admired much of her - not her beauty or her fineries, nor her position. Indeed, he admired her far more before she achieved much of such, when she was merely Adela of High Peak, whom had so failed to triumph in a game. He knew she lived, still, but he had not seen her - he did not wish to. She would be changed, as he had seen her changing, and he would not wish such alterations to take root in his mind. Not after her expulsion, and, certainly, not after her son’s death, for he knew that all that shone in her once must be gone.

 

And yet, as the core of his spirit and his goodness and his evil grew nearer, something stood before it - nay, beside it, indeed. This man, he did recall. He would recall him as Horen did Julia, or Joren did Tara - but his name was forever shut from his mind. Oh, he was beautiful, and intelligent, and kindly, but he was forbidden. This, Mikhael knew, and would forever know - and so, his name was gone, thrown from the graces of his mind to that endless plane of thoughts forgotten and ignored.

 

And yet, here it was - the last one he should recall: himself. He was not a good man. He knew this, and ever denied it. He was worldly, and impious, and sinful; he lied, and schemed, and coerced. Oh, Mikhael, you were not meant for the Church; you were no priest, nor politician. You were but a man, who rejected all you could not fathom. You rejected pain, and it came for you. You rejected sin, and it came for you. You rejected even death, and now, it has come.

 

 

---

 

And so, nestled amongst roadside foliage betwixt Stassion and Aaun, did Mikhael die. Not to any disease, or accident, or great misfortune, but to that which he least expected, that which he least fathomed: mere bandits.

 

There were no letters, for he did not believe it set for him; his goods would linger, and his food would spoil, and his face would go unrecalled for most. And thusly, did he lay, crumpled, soiled, wetted with blood, in the dirt.

 

An inglorious end, for an inglorious man.

 

 

---

[Ramon 3965]

Though he and the Father Mikhael had never been the best of friends, John Alstion lamented his passing all the same.

"May God keep his soul," He muttered after the closing prayers of Vespers that same day he had found out. 

[christman 2307]

Father Mikhael had been the first priest Bishop Mattia had met after his ordination, he remembered that vividly.  The following night the recently departed priest was a focal point of his prayer. 

[Trenchist 548]

In his infrequent visits to Whitespire, at times with or without his industrious-in-spirit friend (Bishop C.), it occurred to Fr. Elim he really hadn't seen the Reverend Mikhael as seldom as he used to, to exchange riddles or as more suited them, random disgruntlements. Some occasions later, his memory already abandoned the existence of the man.

 

At some particularly windswept morning, he had heard in brief passing mention of Fr. Mikhael's death. He dawdled for some time, and then resumed his morning. He knew not whether to attribute his teary eyes to the wind or to that tiding, or to the teariness of most people his age, but his mind decided to do something other than question it.

[Sander 3156]

Sixtus would turn to his right as he left his small dorm in the morning, going to knock on his neighbour's door - he hadn't heard him come home last night and he just wanted to see if his old friend and colleague was alright. Besides that, he took simple pleasure in talking to the fellow redheaded friar from day to day, their chats made him feel less lonely. No luck this morning though, Mikhael must be travelling so he thought, he didn't answer the door. Alas, he still wasn't there the next day or the day after - was this a trip to a faraway place like Balian or Haense? After almost a week had passed, the High Pontiff would use his spare key to take a look inside Mikhael's dorm, which revealed no signs of the priest having left for a while. Strange, unnerving even, Mikhael hadn't answered his letter from the day before either. Once the Holy Father asked about and heard the news of his long-time confidante's passing, it stunned him. The passings of Tonito, Stanislaw and Odo in recent times had hurt, but somehow this broke something in him - more than the others' deaths combined - as he wished he'd spent a little more time with Mikhael the last time they had a chat at the garden seat opposite their dorms...